Chapter Twelve
Willa called the next day, waking Bo early from what she had intended to be a late sleep.
“It’s seven in the morning,” Willa stated, when Bo mumbled a sleep-crusted hello down the phone. “You’re normally up and bouncing around the garden by this point.”
“I’m not working today, and I had a late night,” Bo replied, stifling back a yawn. “I needed to catch up on some sleep.”
“A late night? Hm. Let me guess . . . Mr Two out of Ten again?”
“Might have been.”
There was a moment of silence from Willa. “Wow. He must be brilliant in bed to have kept you from your rake and gardening gloves.”
“Well, he’s vigorous and uses a lot of energy,” Bo replied. Physical energy and emotional energy, as it turned out.
“Uses a lot of energy? He’s a man, not a front-loading washing machine, Bo.”
There was a tetchiness to Willa’s tone that Bo didn’t like. “Why are you so grumpy this morning?” she asked, swinging her legs out of bed and stretching. “You’re sharper than usual.”
Another moment of silence. “I have to go to the States,” Willa finally said, blunt and to the point.
“For the film?”
“No.”
Willa’s short, one-word answer said more than Bo think she realized. “Oh. This is about Berg. Is he okay?”
“I don’t know. No . . . maybe . . . I guess I’ll find out when I get to him.”
Bo opened her curtain. Summer sunshine was pouring into her garden, the sky a crisp blue. “Did he call you?”
“No,” Willa admitted. “A friend of a friend got in touch with me. Said she’d seen him at a party.” She paused, before her tone changed. “There’s a new girlfriend, apparently. Known to be a bit of a party girl.”
“Oh,” Bo said, apropos of nothing. She never knew what to say where Berg was concerned.
“Exactly,” Willa carried on. “It’s like, he’s in recovery, or he’s meant to be. This new . . . new girlfriend can’t be good for him, can she?”
“I don’t know,” Bo spoke honestly. “I haven’t met her. Maybe she is good for him though. He’s been alone for a long time—”
“He’s meant to be alone!” Willa exclaimed. “That’s part of his recovery, remember?”
“Yes, but that was for what, a year?” Bo chewed on her lip. “He’s been in recovery longer than that now.”
“Yes, but—” Willa began, before she abruptly stopped, the line falling silent.
Not that she needed to finish her sentence.
Bo knew more about Berg and Willa than either of them probably realized.
Berg and Willa’s friendship crossed both continents and time, and they were feted as the best Hollywood couple that never was.
Bo knew exactly what Willa had been about to say without her saying it: but it was meant to be me.
“How’s Scarrow?” Bo asked instead, and she heard Willa sigh.
“Oh, he’s okay. He’s really pushing me on this film. Every day I feel like I’m giving the performance of my life, and he’s never happy with it. We do take after take after take after take.” Willa took a breath. “I haven’t told him yet that I need to go to LA for a few days.”
“Wills . . .” Bo started warningly, but Willa cut her off.
“I will, don’t worry. You know I’d never jeopardize a film.
Not when so many people are so invested in it, and we’ve come so far along in filming.
I’ll take a weekend and be back on set by Monday.
I just need to talk to Berg. I need to make sure he’s okay.
That he’s not going to fall off the wagon again. ”
“What if he is okay?” Bo asked, before she thought it through, and there was silence from the other end of the phone.
“What do you mean?”
Bo chewed on her lip before she spoke. “I mean, what if Berg is okay? What will you do then?”
There was another pause, heavier this time. Bo could almost hear Willa frowning, the sound of her breath catching.
“I’d be fine. I just want him to be well. I’ve always wanted him to be well,” Willa said, her voice soft.
Bo closed her eyes. She knew Willa meant it, of course she did, but sometimes, Bo wondered if Willa needed Berg to not be okay. Because if Berg was broken, he still needed her. Willa would still have a role to play, a purpose to serve. If she couldn’t be the girlfriend, she could be the nurse.
If Berg got better — really better — what would that mean for her? For their friendship?
Bo knew it wasn’t selfishness. It was just that Willa had built so much of her heart around saving Berg that Bo wasn’t sure she’d know what to do without him to fix. Bo loved Willa like a sister, and she worried about the day when Willa had to cross that bridge.
“Yes, but—” Bo started, before she closed her mouth. “No. Don’t worry. I don’t mean anything.”
“You should come with me,” Willa suddenly announced, and Bo blinked.
“What?”
“To LA. You should come. You’ve talked about visiting me out there for years and never made it. Oh, please come with me. I’ll cover the cost of your plane ticket. First class, all the way.”
“I can’t,” Bo stammered. “My garden—”
“Someone else can water your garden for a few days, Bo.”
“It’s not just that; I have other responsibilities. I can’t just leave.”
“What responsibilities?” Willa asked, her tone indignant. “You have a garden and your summer house. You have a part-time job at a florist. You don’t have an acting job right now. It’s the perfect time to travel.”
“I can’t,” Bo said again, instantly thinking of Max. She’d told him she would be free. They had an arrangement. An arrangement she enjoyed.
“Of course you can, you just need to . . .” Willa stopped. “Oh. Wait. This is about Mr Two out of Ten, right?”
“A little,” Bo admitted. “We have an agreement. I can’t just take off on him like that.”
“It’s just a couple of days. He’ll be fine.”
“No, he needs . . .” Bo paused, suddenly feeling awkward. How could she explain Max and what they had? How could she explain it to Willa, when she could hardly explain it to herself? “Well, after he performs . . .”
“Performs what? Like a front-loading washing machine?” Willa asked, a hint of scathing in her voice.
“Not like that,” Bo retorted. “I mean, after he performs on his piano. It’s really intense for him, and he needs . . . well, he needs company.” She took a deep breath. “Physical company.”
“You know, most people finish their job and just take a shower and order food.”
“Max is different.” Bo wanted to explain, but knew she’d never be able to. “He’s creative.”
“So, he’ll find somebody else to sleep with,” Willa said, before she paused, a long moment of silence following. “Except that’s not what you want, is it, Bo? You don’t want him to find anyone else. You want him just for you.”
Bo made no reply. She gazed across the garden to the old house, where she knew Max was probably still sleeping.
“Oh, Bo,” Willa exclaimed. “You went and got attached, didn’t you?”
“I like him, Wills.”
“Yeah, I can tell. It was meant to be just a bit of fun though, wasn’t it?”
“It is fun,” Bo argued. “We have a great time when we’re together.”
“Okay,” Willa answered. “So, tell me: what do you do, when you’re together?”
Bo paused. “Well, we . . . umm . . .”
“You have sex. Great. What else do you do?”
Bo thought again, unsure as to whether or not arguing and antagonizing one another counted as ‘doing’ something.
Willa filled in Bo’s obvious silence, however. “You just have sex, don’t you? Christ, Bo, have you even talked to this guy? Like, properly?”
“Yes,” Bo retorted, a little stung.
“Okay. So, tell me why Geoffrey never saw him. Tell me why they fell out.”
Bo remained quiet.
“Okay,” Willa tried again. “Tell me what he does for fun. Other than you, that is.”
Bo thought quickly. Max played piano. That was work though, wasn’t it? What did Max like to do? Did he have any hobbies beyond his music? Bo didn’t know. They’d never really spoken about their lives beyond a ‘need to know’ basis.
Willa huffed. “Okay, so you don’t know that either. Okay, then tell me this: does he have any family? Friends?”
Bo began to blush now, realizing, exactly as Willa intended, that she knew next to nothing about Max. “He went to Eton and likes Indian food,” she suddenly blurted out. That was something, right? Two things, in fact.
Willa made a noise. “Eton? You’re kidding me, right? Fuck me, Bo. I’m pretty sure if I looked up ‘posh twat’ on the urban dictionary it would show me this guy’s picture with a cross-reference to ‘bumbling idiot’.”
“That’s not fair,” Bo replied instantly. “You don’t know him.”
“Bo, neither do you.”
Feeling somewhat caught out, Bo went on the attack. “Just because you’re feeling sensitive about Berg today doesn’t mean you can take it out on me.”
A long, drawn-out silence from Willa followed. “This has nothing to do with Berg,” she finally said, her voice icy.
“It has everything to do with Berg,” Bo replied. “You want me to come to LA with you so I can hold your hand through yet another Berg-related crisis, and you’re pissed that I won’t.”
“Bo—”
“No, Willa Abbott. It’s time you and Berg sorted yourselves out. If you want to go to LA to see him, then go, but don’t try and hide why you’re going to see him by making a smokescreen out of his addiction. And definitely, one hundred per cent don’t make me come along with you for the ride.”
With a click, Willa ended the call.